


Right Through You

by silentrevyrie



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, super brief andy/nate (pls don't hate me), years after canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentrevyrie/pseuds/silentrevyrie
Summary: Years after quitting her job at Runway, Andy Sachs finds herself back at Elias-Clarke, her relationship with Nate in tatters, and back in the orbit of one Miranda Priestly.Some things never change, until they do.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 26
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this whole story is mapped! Hoping to update once a week, or once every other week, depending on what my life and schedule look like. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

//October 2011//

Andy Sachs felt the bile rise in her throat from the pit in her stomach as the priest spoke. “Do you, Andrea, take Nathan to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

She swallowed. “I do.”

—

“They’re ready for you,” the wedding coordinator said, her voice low. “We’ll open the doors on three, so be ready for photos as you go.”

Andy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She glanced at Nate, who reached down and grabbed her hand. His palms were sweaty, and Andy resisted the urge to tear her hand out of his grip.

She heard the coordinator say “three” and suddenly the doors were open, and Andy was blinded for a moment by the bright afternoon light. She plastered on her best smile and stepped outside of Riverside Church, where she’d just married her boyfriend of seven years, to face all of their family and friends.

Andy was busy trying to remember to smile, and to look lovingly at Nate, and to not trip over the train of her dress when she saw it—a long red ponytail and a COLUMBIA sweatshirt, and then a sleek silver bob in a perfectly cut burgundy coat. She stumbled, but never took her eyes off the two people across the street, sure her eyes were playing tricks on her.

And then the woman with the silver hair stopped, and slid her sunglasses down her nose. Andy froze, and her mind raced. It was Miranda Priestly, making eye contact with her and looking almost stricken.

Miranda Priestly, who Andy had worked for and walked away from five years ago. Miranda, for whom Andy had come dangerously close to ending her relationship—which was now her marriage.

Andy watched as Miranda stood on the sidewalk across the street, seemingly as unable to move as she herself was. The redhead—either Caroline or Cassidy, Andy couldn’t be sure—turned back to her and said something that seemed to jolt Miranda back to herself, and she finally looked away.

Bile rose again in Andy’s throat, and the pit in her stomach became cold and heavy. She looked from Miranda back to Nate, back to the man who was now her husband, and Andy knew she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

—

//November 2013//

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Nate asked, taking another swig of his cocktail.

“Can we not do this now?” Andy pleaded, her fake smile not reaching her eyes. She focused on her iPhone and quickly tapped out reply to Mark, an associate editor at _The Boroughs_ , which had been Elias-Clarke’s answer to _The New Yorker_ , and how Andy had ended up back at the same media giant where she’d started her career. “Your parents are literally ten feet away. And you know there isn’t.”

“Jesus, Andy. You haven’t been this distant since...” he trailed off. “But...you don’t even work for her, you’re at a totally different magazine.”

“I told you, there’s no one else, Nate,” she spat. “Forsaking all others, remember?”

“Well, even if it isn’t someone else, it isn’t me anymore either, is it?” Nate asked quietly. “I can’t keep doing this, Andy. When we get back to New York, I want a divorce.”

Andy’s blood ran cold, and she barely stopped herself from laughing out loud. The last time she’d watched a marriage end, she’d been in Paris, France. It nearly seemed fitting that her own was falling apart in Versailles, Ohio. She inhaled slowly, hoping to keep her voice as even and neutral as possible.

“I’m not going to fight with you, Nate. We both deserve to be happy and it’s pretty clear that neither of us are happy in this marriage anymore,” she sighed. “Can we please just make it through fucking Thanksgiving, since we’re already at your parents’, and then deal with this when we get back Tuesday?”

Nate had the grace to look embarrassed, because clearly he hadn’t considered that ending their marriage at his parents’ house the night before Thanksgiving would be awkward for everyone, not just himself and Andy.

“Fine,” Nate agreed. “I’m going outside.”

Andy nodded, and watched him go. She looked back down at her phone and shot a quick text message to Lily, who she was pretty sure was at her own parents’ in Cincinnati for the holiday.  
  


_Nate finally asked for a divorce._  
  
_Oh, honey. Do you need to get out for a bit? I can meet you at that weird bar in Dayton_? came the reply, barely a minute later.  
  
_No, I just. Idk I needed someone who wasn’t me to know about it I guess? Besides, we flew in and his sister picked us up, I don’t have a car._ Andy tried not to sigh too heavily, lest she attract the attention of any of Nate’s family.  
  
Andy’s phone pinged again. _Is this what you want?_

_Idk._

\--

The rest of Thanksgiving weekend had not gone well. Both Andy and Nate did their best to act normal for everyone else’s sake, but the elephant was already in the room. Andy spent as much time as she could in the guest bedroom, claiming she had work to do. It wasn’t necessarily untrue, but a lot of it was stuff she’d have been able to catch up on in the office the following week.

“Hey,” Nate said as he knocked on the doorframe on Sunday evening. Andy pulled a headphone out of her ear and turned to face him.

“Hey,” she replied.

Nate came into the room, closing the door behind himself. “I’m sorry for springing that on you. It was shitty of me, and it could have waited until after Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, it could’ve, Nate,” Andy sighed, closing her MacBook. “I think we both know that this relationship has been over for a long time, and I wish it could’ve come to a better ending than you asking for a divorce on the exact same couch where I gave you a handjob under a blanket during Christmas 2004, you know?”  
  
That, at least, made Nate smile, and it made her remember why she had fallen for him in the first place. “I don’t know,” he chuckled, “seems kind of full-circle to me.”

At that, Andy had to smile as well. “Maybe you’re right. In the meantime, we need to pack. Do you think your Mom will notice if I take most of the stuff I’ve left here over the years? I’m gonna be really sad if I have to let these slippers go.” She shook a slipper-shod foot in his direction.

Nate shrugged and started packing his own suitcase. “So much for breaking the tension,” Andy thought. She hesitated for just a moment, and then toed off the slippers to pack them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh there's so much to establish before we can actually get to the good stuff!

Andy had barely been back at her desk for an hour before everything she’d written for the next issue had been dropped back on her desk for second, third, fourth passes. She put in her headphones and buckled down. Her day was long, but productive, and with her headphones in no one bothered her.

Shortly after 5pm, Jamie, the movie reviewer who sat across from her in _The Boroughs_ ’ open-concept office, waved at Andy to get her attention. She looked up at him.

“You coming to the potluck?” he asked as he stood.

“…shit. I completely forgot,” Andy admitted, pausing her work and pulling out a headphone. Jamie nodded towards where the intern team appeared to be setting up a buffet table, and Andy watched for a moment.

“I…ugh. I don’t have time for this. Royce wants these edits by morning.” The volume in the room was already steadily increasing as Andy’s coworkers started trickling towards the food setup. “I can’t get this done at home either.” She dreaded the possibility of having to try to focus on rewrites while also focusing on Nate, who didn’t work Tuesdays.

Jamie didn’t ask for details. “There’s that conference room on 16 that we never use— _Runway_ never uses it either, so I bet you could hole up there?”

Andy thought about it. Jamie was right, the conference room on the secondary floor that their magazine shared with _Runway_ really never did get use; it was tiny and windowless, and both publications had far better facilities on their main floors. “Can you check the Outlook calendar to make sure it’s clear?”

Jamie tapped a few keys on his laptop and scanned the screen. “You’re good. No one has anything booked there for the foreseeable future.”  
  
“Ugh, thanks. I never would’ve thought to use it,” Andy said as she started gathering her belongings and depositing them into her messenger bag. “I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

Jamie nodded as Andy rose. She waved to him as she left, bypassing the elevator to take the stairs, since it was only one flight. As Andy opened the door to the 16th floor, she had to dodge some of _The Boroughs_ ’ advertising staff, whose offices were there, and who appeared to be headed down to their main floor, likely for the potluck she’d just abandoned. Andy gave a small nod as she skirted past them and walked quickly down the hallway to the conference room. She took a seat at the far end of the table and spread out her computer and notebooks before putting her headphones back in and settling back into her edits.

\--

Andy was knee-deep in trying to cut 500 more words from a follow-up profile on Wendy Davis and Leticia Van de Putte when the movement of the door opening caught her attention. She looked up to see who it was, prepared to apologize to the cleaning staff and get out of their way, but the words died in her throat.

Miranda Priestly was standing at the other end of the table, looking exasperated as she held a MacBook and a file folder.

“Oh, god, okay,” Andy spluttered as she hit the keys to save her work. “I knew I should’ve checked the calendar myself—if you give me like three seconds I can be out of your hair. I’m so sorry, Miranda.”

Miranda gave her a curious glance. “I suspect you’re also here for some uninterrupted workspace, Andrea?” She placed her computer on the table and took a seat at the end opposite Andy. “Carry on, then.”

“Uh. Sure. Okay. Thanks,” Andy blushed. She glanced up at Miranda, who was already engrossed in whatever was on her screen, before looking back down at her own. She couldn’t quite believe that Miranda remembered her on sight—it’d been seven years since Andy unceremoniously walked off the job in Paris. Idly, Andy wondered if this means that Miranda really did recognize her outside the church on her wedding day. She shakes her head to clear the thought. _Oh, that way madness lies._

\--

Andy was putting the finishing touches on the Texas senators piece when she thought she heard Miranda say something. “Hmm?” She looked up.

“I asked how things are. With your husband,” Miranda repeated, giving a pointed look to the wedding set on Andy’s left hand.

“Oh. Um, not great, actually?” Andy started. “He, uh, asked for a divorce last week, but we were at his parents’ for Thanksgiving so we tabled the discussion until we got back.” She realized just how much she’d said, and how much Miranda probably hadn’t actually cared, and stopped short. Then again, Miranda had been the one to start the conversation. Miranda, who hated small talk, and who presumably hated Andy for leaving her in the lurch during Fashion Week, was asking Andy about her life like they were casual friends who hadn’t seen each other in a little while. Andy was pulled from her reverie by Miranda’s voice again.

“You’re back, aren’t you?” Miranda asked, not lifting her gaze from documents spread on her end of the table. “So what are you waiting for?”

Andy didn’t respond for a long moment. “I don’t know. I—I just don’t know if he means it? Or if he was just fed up with the fact that I was working while we were supposed to be vacationing.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants, Andrea. It’s about what you want. Do you want to stay in what sounds like an unhappy marriage?”

Andy clenched her fists and inhaled slowly. “You don’t know the first thing about my marriage, Miranda.”

“Maybe so,” Miranda replied, still focused on her papers, “but I do know a lot about failed marriages. When one partner asks for a divorce and the other is in her office focused on a deadline instead of at home, trying to fix her marriage, there isn’t much else to know.”

“Maybe I’m not ready to leave. We’ve been together for almost a decade.” Andy very nearly pouted.

“Not wanting to go isn’t enough, Andrea,” Miranda said, finally looking up at Andy. “You have to actively want to stay. There’s a difference.”

“Oh,” Andy muttered lamely.  
  
“Indeed,” Miranda replied. If Andy hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn she saw a small smile on Miranda’s face as she looked back down. Andy stared across the table, and realized that her options were trying to make sense of Miranda apparently giving her relationship advice, or getting back to the work she desperately needed to finish.

She chose the latter. It seemed easier.


	3. Chapter 3

Silence was the right choice. Miranda seemed to be completely engrossed in whatever she was doing, and Andy, quite frankly, didn’t have time to waste unless she wanted to stay in the office until midnight. As she thought about it, Andy wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t want to stay until midnight, since at least Nate wasn’t there.   
Just before 9:00, Andy admitted to herself that she’d been staring at the same paragraph of the same finished article for the better part of fifteen minutes, and there wasn’t anything keeping her from leaving. Slowly, she gathered her belongings into her bag. 

“Thank you. For the advice,” Andy muttered as she walked past Miranda, who was still engrossed in the what appeared to be a digital mock-up of a layout. The editor hummed, seemingly in acknowledgement, and Andy gently closed the door as she left. 

Andy rushed down the stairs back to the 15th floor, where she grabbed her coat and tried desperately not to think too hard about the past three hours of her life. She was more sure than ever that too much time thinking about Miranda Priestly would lead straight down the path to madness. 

— 

Andy walked in the door to her apartment and held her breath for a moment. She could hear the TV in the bedroom and felt her body tense, preparing for what was sure to be an argument. “Hey,” she called as she set her bags down by the desk in the living room. No response from Nate. Andy couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. 

“Nice of you to finally come home at,” came the reply, and Nate paused, “9:45.” 

“I had to rework three different articles,” Andy sighed, already tired of the same argument they always had. “It’s a weekly and I get to write creatively. It’s more work than the paper ever was.” She could hear Nate’s footsteps coming out of the bedroom, and knew this was going to become a circular and endless argument. She didn’t have the energy for it. 

“When was the last time you came home on time, Andy? When was the last time you actually tried to spend time with me instead of your job?” Nate asked, his eyes hard. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. 

“I don’t know, about the same time you spent a night off talking to me instead of watching Game of Thrones?” Andy spat back, unable to take the high road. Nate rolled his eyes. 

“God forbid I should watch a TV show with my downtime.” 

“You can watch it. Just don’t complain about me not trying to spend time with you when you make no effort to hang out with me, either.” Andy tried to keep her voice even. “I don’t want to have this argument again. This is the same argument we’ve been having for a year. Not one word of it has changed.” 

“We’ve been having this argument since 2006, Andy. I have come in second to your job since the moment we came to New York,” Nate countered. 

Andy sighed. “You’re not wrong. This really is the same fight we’ve been having for seven years. Nothing about it has changed, and nothing is going to.” She was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. Andy dug it out of her purse and recognized the number prefix as coming from the Elias-Clarke building. “I have to take this.” 

“I know,” Nate snapped, “it’s work.” 

“Andy Sachs,” Andy answered brightly as she brought the phone to her ear. 

“I’m packing up for the evening and there seems to be a folder on the floor by your chair,” came the reply, the voice low and even. 

“Mir—Miranda?” Andy was stunned. Of everyone she’d thought could be calling her, Miranda had not been on the list. She glanced up at Nate and saw him wide-eyed. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked, incredulous. “What the fuck is she calling you for? You don’t work for her. What fucking year is this?!” 

“I left a file folder in a conference room we share with Runway,” Andy hissed, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. 

“Doesn’t the Dragon Lady have underlings to handle that shit for her?” Nate sneered. “Have you forgotten that you used to be that underling?” 

“Shut up,” Andy snapped, before focusing her attention back on the phone. “I’m so sorry. Um, I probably don’t need it but can you tell me what’s in it?” 

There was silence, and then the sound of papers shuffling. “Looks like an economic impact projection for the potential closing of...the Times Square Toys’R’Us,” Miranda finally provided, a hint of laughter in her voice. Andy smiled into the phone, and glanced over at Nate, who looked like he was about to say something. 

“Uh-uh,” Andy hissed, shaking her head. She turned her attention back to the phone. “You can just leave that on the table if that’s okay? I can grab it in the morning, I don’t need it tonight.” 

“Very well,” Miranda replied quickly, “and remember what I said before, Andrea. Not wanting to go isn’t the same as wanting to stay.” 

“I know,” Andy agreed. “Thanks, Miranda.” 

“Yes,” Miranda said, and then the call ended. Andy looked up at where Nate had been standing, and instead found him standing by the front door, shoving his arms angrily into his coat. 

“Nate, please, can we just talk about this?” Andy pleaded, tossing her phone back into her bag. 

“Don’t wait up,” he growled. 

“Fine, I won’t,” Andy snapped back, her anger finally getting the better of her, and she watched as Nate stormed out of their apartment. 

Miranda was right. Andy didn’t want to go, but maybe she didn’t want to stay, either, and there was only one path forward. Now she had to figure out what it was. But first, Andy decided, she had a date with a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream, and the entire queen bed. 


	4. Chapter 4

When Andy woke the next morning, her mouth tasted like sandpaper, and it was still dark outside. She grabbed for the clock on the nightstand and when she couldn’t read it, fumbled with her cell phone until the screen turned on and she saw it was barely 5:30. Andy laid back down and listened to the quiet apartment—she couldn’t hear Nate snoring from the living room, and he certainly hadn’t joined her in bed, which meant he hadn’t been home since storming out the night before.

Andy tossed and turned for another ten minutes before realizing it was a lost cause, and that she was awake for the day. She didn’t see much of a reason to hang at home, waiting for Nate to show up, so instead she showered, dried her hair, and left for the office.

At 6:27, Andy strolled across the lobby, pausing briefly to wave at the overnight security guard when she tapped her access badge. He nodded at her, and then looked up. Andy followed his gaze and stumbled slightly when the person he was looking at turned out to be Miranda. Andy hurried through the turnstile and hit the button for the elevator. The doors opened just as Miranda approached, and Andy stepped aside as the editor entered the elevator. Miranda looked down her nose, over the top of her sunglasses, and nodded so slightly that Andy wasn’t even sure she had. The dinging of the door beginning to close spurred Andy into action. She slipped into the elevator and stood unmoving on the other side. Miranda gave her a funny look, and then leaned forward and pressed “15” on Andy’s behalf.   
  
“Thanks,” Andy blushed. Miranda nodded, and went back to staring straight ahead as the elevator ascended. Andy exited wordlessly when the doors opened on _The Boroughs’_ floor. She walked halfway to her desk and then decided being at the office before 7am deserved better than the Keurig in the break room, since the manned coffee bar didn’t open until 8:30. Andy turned around and headed back to the elevator, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she waited for it to arrive.   
  
When Andy arrived back in the lobby, the security guard who’d seen her go up less than five minutes before gave her a quizzical look but let her pass through the turnstile. She crossed the lobby again and hit the pavement outside. Sixth Avenue wasn’t as busy as she’d have anticipated so early, and she jay-walked across the street to the nearest Starbucks.

“Hi,” she smiled brightly at the barista behind the counter, “can I get a grande soy no-water chai, please?”   
  
“Will that be all?” the barista asked as she marked the cup.

Andy was about to say “yes” when she stopped herself. “Can I also get a grande no-foam skim latte with an extra shot, as hot—”

“As hot as we can make it? Yeah, we know the drill,” the barista smiled back, looking up at Andy. “You must be new.”   
  
Andy almost snorted. “The opposite, actually. I started out as her assistant seven years ago—I cannot believe that I still remember that coffee order.”  
  
“Well, if you were here as much as the current assistant is, I can see why it’s seared into your brain. It’s cold out, I’ll double-cup to keep the heat in.”   
  
“Thanks,” Andy grinned as she swiped her card. The bar barista quickly made both drinks, and grabbed them without a carrier. She hip-checked the door open and headed back outside, this time opting to use the crosswalk to get back to Elias-Clarke. Once more across the lobby and into the elevator, but this time Andy was alone, and she fumbled with the cups to press the button herself.

When the doors opened to the 17th floor, Andy was struck by how little the _Runway_ office had changed since her time there. The photos on the walls were different, but the layout was the same, and it gave her a weird sense of déjà vu. She walked back, almost without thinking about it, until she found herself standing by her old desk, in front of the door to Miranda’s office. The editor sat at her desk, and she hadn’t noticed Andy’s arrival. Andy cleared her throat, and Miranda looked up.   
  
“No-foam skim latte, with an extra shot, center-of-the-sun hot,” Andy offered as she strode forward. A small smile quirked Miranda’s lips, and she reached out to take the cup. As she took her first sip, Miranda gestured towards the chair on the outside of the desk.

“Oh, thanks,” Andy said, quickly taking a seat. Miranda nodded, and refocused on whatever she’d been working on before Andy interrupted. They sat in silence for a while before Miranda finally spoke.

“If you’re here you may as well do the work you came in to do, no?” She didn’t look up. Andy was beginning to sense a trend.

“Um, okay,” Andy mumbled, already reaching for the laptop in her shoulder bag. She set it up and quickly got to work on a piece about the upcoming mayoral transition, sipping her latte as she wrote.

They worked like this for a while, Andy looking up at Miranda every time the older woman made a sound of dissatisfaction at the work in front of her, which was often. Andy opened her mouth to speak several times, always stopping when she realized she didn’t even know what to say. Instead, she opted to let the silence stand, and the women worked, together but separately, until just before 8:00.

The sound of heels clacking down the hallway stole Andy’s attention from her computer, and she looked up to see a young woman with a Starbucks cup headed down the hallway. Miranda looked up as well.   
  
“Elise,” she murmured, by way of explanation.

“I guess I should head to my own desk,” Andy offered neutrally.

“Perhaps,” Miranda replied. “I have a meeting with Thakoon at 8:30 so I’ll be heading out soon as well.

“Gotcha,” Andy responded as she closed her laptop. She paused as she picked it up and looked at Miranda, who she realized was staring directly at her left hand, where her wedding set still sat on her ring finger. Andy fiddled with it uncomfortably.

“You still have work to do.” Andy didn’t miss the double meaning.

“You’ve got that right.” Andy grabbed the empty Starbucks cups off Miranda’s desk, and deposited them in the trash can under what had been her desk, many years before, in perhaps the only part of her day that felt normal, no matter how far removed she was from her days as Miranda’s assistant.


End file.
